“Money Monster” and “High-Rise,” both of which are in theaters on May 13, are completely different movies. The former is a star-studded vehicle, directed by Jodie Foster and starring George Clooney and Julia Roberts, while the latter is an adaptation of the novel of the same name by J.G. Ballard. But the way each film deals with class and violence brings them into the same orbit and illuminates how movies often have difficulty dealing with these subjects.Ballard’s novel, first published in 1975, is a feverish race through a class war that erupts in the 40-floor high-rise building at the book’s center. It is deeply rooted in a specific time and place — it shortly predated the rise of Margaret Thatcher’s “every man for himself” ideology, and captured a growing fear that architecture and social alienation were connected, with the logical conclusion of social collapse. The film adaption of “High-Rise,” for the most part, sticks closely to the book. It begins just as the novel does, with the main character, Dr. Robert Laing (Tom Hiddelston), preparing a dog to eat on his balcony, his clothes in tatters and surrounded by the remnants of chaos. We are then thrown back in time, to the moment Laing moves into the modern building. Director Ben Wheatley keeps the story in the same time period it was written, and drapes the film in retro-extravagance, from the drab interiors of the lower levels of the building to the plush elegance of the penthouse apartment, occupied by the building’s architect, Anthony Royal (Jeremy Irons). This choice to not modernize isn’t simply a bit of nostalgia — the end of the film ends with a recording of Thatcher, followed by the sounds of “Industrial Estate” by The Fall. If the connection wasn’t clear, this moment is a blunt reminder.But it’s also too little, too late. “High-Rise” is a film whose form can’t catch up to its content. As the residents of the different floors begin to wage war against one another, all codes of civility vanish. Laing moves through this world first as a passive observer than as a passive participant, all the while keeping a clinical distance that matches Ballard’s descriptions of the events in the novel. But the book’s mordant tone is never fully transferred to the film, and we’re left with a cut-and-paste job that is sometimes clever but mostly plodding. This is a failure of adaptation first and foremost, and may strengthen the case for some books to remain bound between covers — the transformation from literature to film is always a balancing act.“Money Monster,” on the other hand, has nowhere to lay the blame. A cheap story of a Jim Cramer-like television host named Lee Gates (George Clooney) who gets taken hostage live on the air by Kyle Budwell (Jack O’Connell), a working-class father from the outer boroughs who lost all his money after following a faulty stock tip promoted on the show, the film is muddled in its critique of income inequality. In its attempt to dramatize how people’s lives are ruined by the mechanizations of finance, it pushes an “all men are equal” sentimentality while further promoting stereotypes of working-class citizens as bumbling idiots and the privileged as rational thinkers who, despite not thinking about the consequences of their actions, are actually good people. We just need to give them a chance.In both “High-Rise” and “Money Monster,” violence starts at the bottom — it’s the firecracker whose fuse was lit from the top. But “High-Rise” presents its violence not as a reaction to but as an absorption of the status quo. There is no moment that sparks violence, and what happens is irrelevant to the people of the apartment complex, devoid of motivation. The space has broken them down until all that is left are carnal desires, which lead them to hunt their prey. It’s a satirical critique of control and its natural consequences, a never-ending loop. Violence will always be met with more violence.“Money Monster” shows violence as a last resort, an unnatural disruption of order. Despite the television host’s culpability in what happened, and his initial inability to comprehend his guilt, he’s lucky enough to have a conscience sitting in the other room. Patty Fenn (Julia Roberts), the producer of the show, is supposed to exist in some middle ground between the two people on the soundstage. From her control booth she takes control, literally speaking directly into the Lee’s earpiece and diffusing the situation through bringing them closer to an understanding.But there is no true understanding for Kyle. He has a gun and is ready to kill because he has nothing left. By the end of the film, Lee has come to develop sympathy for his captor, and attempts to bring the real bad guy down. In other words, he has learned his lesson, and the audience is meant to see him as less of the problem and more of a man caught up in the system. Kyle, however, must pay for his sins. He’s a victim of his own hubris for trying to retaliate against forces that refuse to allow him to move up in the world. But those in power simply feel bad, shake their heads, and promise to change. Everything is back to normal.
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